1. Borges’s poems about time

Borges’s poems about time 1. Borges’s poems

This comes from "A Sword of York Minster"

Dream:

When the midnight clock squanders the generous time

I Will go further than the sailors of Ulysses

Enter the realm of dreams beyond human memory

.

I brought only a few remnants from the underwater realm,

but beyond my powers of understanding:

Simple botanical grass,

various animals,

conversations with the dead,

words from ancient languages,

and sometimes Horror,

The face that is truly a mask,

Nothing the day has to offer can compare with it.

I am everyone, I am no one. I am someone else,

I am him without realizing it, he has seen me wake up from another dream

. He judges

He stays out and smiles.

You can understand it if you try to become a magician yourself. This is a story about a dreamer. The dreammaker is a magician. He started his dream-making work in a circular ruins in a foreign land. The dreamer created an academy with many teenagers in it. He personally taught the teenagers A course on the structure of the universe was given. The teenagers all knew the importance of the course. They listened attentively and answered seriously. They understood that only by passing the exam can they escape from nothingness and enter the real world. However, an endless awakening destroyed the academy. , the dreamer couldn't sleep. He even wanted to reach the state of dreaming through tired adventures in the forest. Unfortunately, he only had a few short and barren dreams in the bushes. His efforts were in vain. Once, he dreamed of the academy again. , just when he was about to say something to the students, the college and the students distorted and disappeared.

After a period of adjustment, the magician began to create more difficult dreams. After a bath, the magician On the night of the full moon, a ceremony was held to worship the gods and stars. "Sing out a powerful name with standard pronunciation." After falling into the dream, "almost immediately" I dreamed of a beating heart. Over the course of a year, The dreamer reached the skeleton and eyelids. After One Thousand and One Nights, a complete boy appeared. Then the dreamer spent two years teaching him the rituals of fire worship and the mysteries of the universe.

The boy in this dream, the "son" of the dream-maker magician, later arrived at the temple in the north and stepped on the fire without being burned. The dream-maker was worried that the boy would be depressed because he found out that he was the shadow of the dream. For this he felt He was full of worries. Until one day, a fire came to the ring ruins. Thinking that the fire was coming to end his old age, the magician did not avoid it and walked towards the fire without hesitation. The flames did not burn his skin and flesh, but gently Soothing him, drowning him. .

In the last sentence, Borges described the dreamer's mood like this: "He knew with relief, shame, and fear that he himself was also a phantom, a phantom in another person's dream."

2. What is the original text of Borges’s poem: “Generations of Roses Lost at the End of Time”

Roses and Milton

Scattered at the end of time

Roses from generation to generation, I hope there is one among them

that can be saved from our forgetfulness,

one without a mark and the symbol of the rose

Among all things that have ever existed, fate

has given me the privilege to speak of this silent flower for the first time

, The Last Rose

Milton once brought it close to his eyes,

but could not see it. Oh you crimson, orange

or pure white flower from the lost garden,

your ancient past magically survives

in this poem Shining,

Gold, blood, ivory or shadow

Like an invisible rose in his hand.

3. Recommend a few poems by Borges

Rain Suddenly the dusk becomes bright because drizzle is falling or has fallen at this moment.

Raining is undoubtedly an event that happened in the past. Whoever hears the rain fall recalls the time when happy destiny presented him with a flower called a rose and its wonderful red color. The drizzle that covers the windowpanes will surely wash away the black grapes on the racks in the abandoned suburbs and in some courtyard that no longer exists.

The moist curtain brought me a voice, the voice I longed for. My father is back. He is not dead. Translated by Chen Dongbiao and Chen Zihong------------------------------------------------ ---------------------------------- Montevideo I slide down your twilight like tiredness slides down A slope of piety.

The young night is like a wing on your roof terrace. You are the Buenos Aires we once had, the city that slipped away with the years.

You are ours, festive, like the stars reflected in the water. False doors in time, your streets towards a softer past.

The light of dawn, which sends the morning towards us, over the sweet brown water, before lighting up my blinds, your low daylight has blessed your garden. A city that is heard as a poem.

A street with courtyard light. Translated by Chen Dongbiao and Chen Zihong------------------------------------------------ ---------------------------------- My life is full of memories and my lips are unique and unique to you again. similar.

I am this slow intensity a soul. I am always close to joy and cherish the caress of pain.

I have crossed the ocean. I have known many lands; I have seen one woman and two or three men.

I once loved a proud white girl. She had the tranquility of Spain. I have seen the endless countryside where the endless immortality of the West is completed.

I have tasted many words. I was convinced that this was what it was all about and that I would never do anything new again.

I believe that my poverty and my abundance, day and night, are equal to God and to all men. -------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------- The premonition of love, whether it is the friendly radiance of your face like a festival, whether it is the grace of your body Still mysterious and silent, childish, or whether the continuation of your life remains in words or tranquility, it cannot compare to such a mysterious gift, like watching your sleep gather in the vigil of my arms.

Miraculously, another virginity, through the pardoning power of sleep, quiet and glorious, like the happiness restored by memory, you will give me the shore of your life that you do not possess. Plunging into silence I will recognize your presence on the last beach and see you for the first time, perhaps just as God will see you destroyed, the fiction of time, without love, without me.

Source poet () Original text: /waiguo/argentina/002.htm.

4. The life of Borges and his famous poems

Character biography Although J.L. Borges has been influenced by this strong English environment since he was a child, his life After all, the general environment is Spanish-speaking Argentina; according to the author, he learned Spanish first and then English.

In 1901, the Borges family moved from their grandfather's house at No. 840 Tucumán Street to No. 2135/47 Serrano Street (now renamed Borges Street) in the northern part of the capital, Palermo District. A tall and spacious two-story building with a garden; the writer spent his childhood and youth here. His father set up a library in this comfortable building, which contained a large number of precious literary masterpieces. Borges was able to listen to and appreciate them from his grandmother and British female teacher. Soon he was immersed in reading on his own and never tired of it.

Borges was influenced by his family and loved reading and writing since he was a child. He showed a strong desire for creation and literary talent at an early age. When he was 7 years old, he abbreviated a piece of Greek mythology in English.

At the age of 8, he wrote a story in Spanish called "The Deadly Eyepatch" based on "Don Quixote". When he was 10 years old, he published a translation of the fairy tale "The Happy Prince" by British writer Oscar Wilde in "The Nation", signed by Jorge Borges. His translation was so mature that he was actually considered to have been written by his father.

In 1914, his father was almost completely blind due to eye disease and decided to retire, so Jorge Luis went to Europe with his family. After traveling to England and France, he settled in Geneva, Switzerland. Borges officially went to middle school and studied French, German, Latin and many other languages.

With the unique language environment, the studious Borges became even more powerful and eagerly browsed the world's famous works. He read Daudet, Zola, Maupassant, Hugo, Flaubert, Thomas Carlyle, Chesterman, Stevenson, Kipling, Thomas De Quincey, Edgar Allan Poe, Hugo Terman, read Heine, Meylink, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche... This had a huge and far-reaching impact on his future literary creation, and laid an extremely solid foundation.

From 1919 to 1920, he moved to Spain with his family. During this period, he interacted with some young extremist writers and had a quarrel with each other. They co-organized literary journals, actively wrote articles, and created "Ode to October" The revolutionary poem "Red Melody" and the collection of short stories "The Gambler's Cards"; but Borges was self-effacing and believed that these were only experimental works that were not yet ready for publication and were not published.

After returning to Buenos Aires in 1921, Borges seemed to be driven by fate and came to the library, the paradise in his heart, and engaged in library work throughout his life, serving successively as the mayor of Buenos Aires. The staff and director of various public libraries are bourgeois democrats; they also engage in literary creation, publishing magazines, giving lectures and other activities.

In 1923, he officially published his first collection of poems, "The Passion of Buenos Aires" (first published at his own expense in 1922), as well as his two later collections of poems, "The Moon in Front of Me" (1925) and "The Notes of Saint Martin" (1929) is free in form, plain, fresh, clear, and passionate. Borges entered the literary world as a poet and made his mark. During the Peron administration from 1946 to 1955, he was dismissed from his post as director of the municipal library because of his signature on a manifesto against Peron, and was humiliatingly ordered to work as a market poultry inspector.

In order to maintain his personality and dignity, he is not afraid of power. He refused to hold office and issued an open letter in protest, which received widespread support from the intelligentsia.

In 1950, due to the support of many writers, Borges was elected president of the Argentine Writers Association. This is tantamount to a slap in the face to the Peron government.

After Perón stepped down, on October 17, 1955, he was appointed director of the National Library of Argentina; at the same time, he also served as professor of English literature in the Department of Philosophy and Literature at the University of Buenos Aires; 6 In the 1990s, he gave lectures at the University of Texas and other schools in the United States. In his later years, Borges left the shores of Buenos Aires with his four identities and began his short career across the ocean, ending in Geneva.

Like other old people who feel that their days are numbered, Borges also chose to return to his roots and died in Geneva as he wished. Borges was very proficient in reading and writing throughout his life. He lost his sight in his later years, but continued to create by dictation, and his achievements were astonishing.

However, his married life was not satisfactory. He was single for a long time and was cared for by his mother. He did not marry the widowed Elsa Astete Millian until he was 68 years old (1967), and they divorced three years later.

After his mother passed away, he finally identified Maria Kodama, a Japanese female secretary who had followed him for many years, as his lifelong partner. They married in Geneva on April 26, 1986, declaring her the sole legal heir to his estate for the safekeeping, organization and publication of his works.

On June 14 of the same year, Borges, a literary master of his generation, died in Geneva due to ineffective treatment for liver cancer. My life is here again, lips full of memories unique yet similar to yours.

I am this slow intensity a soul. I am always close to joy and cherish the caress of pain.

I have crossed the ocean. I have known many lands; I have seen one woman and two or three men.

I once loved a proud white girl. She had the tranquility of Spain. I have seen the endless countryside where the endless immortality of the West is completed.

I have tasted many words. I was convinced that this was what it was all about and that I would never do anything new again.

I believe that my poverty and my abundance, day and night, are equal to God and to all men. The Moon - For Maria Kodama There is such loneliness in that piece of gold.

Many nights, the moon was not the moon that our ancestor Adam saw. Over the long years, the night watchers have filled her with ancient sorrow.

Look at her, she is your mirror. I came back after many years of exile and returned to my childhood place. I have forgotten the appearance of the house. Only touching the branches of the old tree can remind me of the old nightmare.

I re-entered the path of the past, suddenly feeling the long-lost poetry. I watched the dusk gradually fall, the shy crescent moon hiding in the dense forest of palm trees, hiding and hiding, just like a bird burying itself in its own nest. The house contained me again.

How many sun, moon and stars have the courtyard walls captured? How many magnificent sunsets have the Jiaoyou trails carried? And how much tenderness the delicate crescent moon once sprinkled on the flower beds beside the road? .

5. Can anyone find some more classic Borges poems

Borges’ representative poems include: "Red Melody", "The Moon in Front of Me" ", "Notes of Saint Martin", "Another, the Same", "Iron Coin", "Passion of Buenos Aires", "Story of the Night", "Tiger's Golden".

Among them, the poem "The Goldenness of the Tiger":

I watched that heroic Bengal tiger again and again.

Until the golden evening, look at it inside the iron fence.

Patrolling back and forth along the destined path, I never thought that it was its cage.

There will be other colors of gold in the future, that is the wonderful metal of Zeus.

It turned into nine rings, and each turned into nine.

Forever is endless, with the passing of years.

Other brilliant colors gradually abandoned me, leaving only me now.

Hazy light, unpredictable shadows and original golden color.

Ah, the sunset in the west.

Ah, the tiger - the sparkle of myth and epic.

Ah, there is even more lovely golden color.

Your hair, my hands long to touch it.

Extended information:

1. Jorge Luis Borges (Jorge Luis Borges, August 24, 1899 - June 14, 1986), Argentina Poet, novelist, essayist and translator, he is known as the archaeologist among writers.

2. Borges was born in Buenos Aires to a lawyer family of British descent. He went to high school in Geneva and went to university in Cambridge. Master English, French, German and other languages.

3. Borges’s works cover multiple literary categories, including short essays, essays, poems, literary criticism, and translated literature. Among them, he is famous for his timeless Latin texts and profound philosophy.

4. Important works include poetry collections "The Passion of Buenos Aires" and "Tiger's Gold", short story collections "The Garden of Forking Paths", "Aleph", etc.

Baidu Encyclopedia-Jorge Luis Borges (Argentinian writer)

Baidu Encyclopedia-Tiger’s Golden

6. Borges

The more careless you are, the more people will believe it is not a scam; the more blatant you are, the less likely you are to reveal your flaws.

We call the infinite operation of a thousand changing causes destiny. If you fight like a man, you won't be hanged like a dog.

The angel told me that the sheep's fur was not the color of the tiger, and Satan said to me that the powerful God wanted it to be that color, using my skills and dyes. Now I know that angels and Satan are confusing black and white, and all colors are abominable.

In the dreamer’s dream, the person dreamed of wakes up. Some moralists believe that possession of money does not necessarily indicate happiness; other forms of luck may be more direct.

Knowing that some happiness is just a matter of chance diminishes its charm. No decision is final, and other decisions can be derived from the decision.

Ignorant people think that infinite drawing of lots requires infinite time. In fact, this is not the case, as long as time is divided into infinite subdivisions. If I am not destined to get that honor, wisdom and happiness, then let others get it.

Even if I go to hell, I hope heaven exists. From my cowardice I drew the strength that did not abandon me at the critical moment.

I predict that people will succumb more and more to heinous things; before long the world will be full of warriors and robbers; what I want to advise them is: people who do heinous things should imagine that they are What is done is done, and the future should be treated as if it were as irreversible as the past. That's what I did, I treated myself as if I were already dead, watching the day, perhaps the last day pass and the night fall with cold eyes.

Heroes fight like this, with admirable hearts and fearless hearts, and the steel swords in their hands are extremely sharp, just to kill their opponents or die on the battlefield. What one man does is the same as what all men do, so it is not unfair to say that a disobedience in the garden corrupted all mankind, and that the crucifixion of one Jew was enough to save. All mankind is not unfair.

God is in a certain letter on a certain page of a certain volume in the Clementino Library’s collection of 400,000 books. My parents and my parents' parents searched for that letter; I searched for it myself until I was blinded.

He was not writing for posterity, nor for God, for he knew nothing of God's literary preferences. He painstakingly, motionlessly and secretly creates an invisible maze within the realm of time.

We often shed tears of sympathy for the misfortunes of novel characters, and as a result, our own misfortunes are even more sad. There was a moment in the evening when the plain seemed to have something to say; it had never said it, maybe the world had been telling it and we didn't understand it, maybe we did, but it was as unexplainable as the music.

He ordered a cup of coffee, slowly stirred it with sugar, took a sip, and stroked the cat's black fur. He felt that the contact was a bit illusory, as if there was a piece of glass between him and the cat, because people live in Time and the continuation of time, while the mysterious animal lives in the present, in the eternity of the moment. The long years have shrunk him and polished his edges, just like a stone polished by running water or a proverb tempered by generations.

He is dark, thin, and shriveled, as if he is beyond time and in eternity. Immortality is insignificant; all living things except humans can live forever because they do not know what death is; the consciousness of immortality is divine, terrifying, and unfathomable.

I am a god, a hero, a philosopher, a devil, and the world. To put it in a simple and clear way, I am nothing. Death (or its metaphor) makes people wise and sad.

They were shocked by their dew-like condition; every move they made might be their last; every face would fade away like a dream. Among ordinary people, everything is irreversible and irreversible.

In contrast, among the Immortals, every action (and every thought) is an echo of actions and thoughts that have occurred in the distant past, or that will be repeated in the future. Accurate omens of actions and thoughts. After being reflected in countless mirrors, the reflection of things will not disappear.

Nothing can happen only once, and it cannot be regrettably fleeting. There is nothing elegiac or solemn about the Immortal.

One of the attributes of hell is its unreality, an attribute that makes it seem less frightening, but may also intensify it. I feel despair when I realize that nothing can save me; I feel relieved when I realize that I am not responsible for my misfortune.

God foresaw that many disasters and destruction would occur in the end of heaven and earth, so he wrote a magical sentence on the first day of chaos that could prevent misfortunes. The reason why he wrote it down was so that it could be passed down to the most distant descendants and not be lost.

No one knows where he wrote it or in what letters, but we know that the words have always existed in secret and will be seen by a person chosen by God. I believe that we have been in the final period of heaven and earth, and that I, as the last priest of God, will have the privilege of perceiving those words.

Your awakening is not a return to a sleepless state, but a return to a previous dream. One dream after another, until infinity, just like the number of grains of sand.

The road back you will take is endless, and by the time you really wake up you will be dead. The happiness of understanding is far greater than imagined or felt.

The past is the stuff that time is made of, so time quickly becomes the past.

7. A word about literature and the philosophy of time

In his lecture essay "Time" written in 1978, Borges once stated: "Put space and time on the same level. It is also disrespectful, because we can abandon space in our thinking, but we cannot exclude time." "Time is a fundamental issue, and I want to say that we cannot avoid time.

Our perception is constantly changing. One situation turns to another, this is time, and time is continuous." Then, starting from the perspective of change and difference, Borges put forward Heraclitus's famous saying that has been quoted for thousands of years: “No one can tread the same stream twice.”

In the eyes of Borges, this famous saying involves the two changing processes of "river" and "us" - "Why can't people step into the same river twice? First of all, because The river flows. Secondly, this brings us to a metaphysical question, which seems to be a sacred and terrible principle, because we ourselves are a river and we ourselves are constantly flowing.

< p> This is a question of time.”[23] Borges’s different concept of time has been around for a long time. As early as 1952, in his article “A New Refutation of Time” in “Discussing Parts”, he wrote: Borges once emphasized in an outspoken "idealist" tone that "I deny the existence of listing various actions at the same time.

Denying simultaneous existence is more difficult than denying that they occur successively. "There are so many"[24], Borges's view of time is fully reflected in his novel creation. In a series of novels represented by "The Garden of Forking Paths", Borges's view of time is not only displayed in a labyrinth-like manner, but also profoundly affects the "realistic" elements in Borges' novels.

It should be said that after Borges denied the diachronic time view and the temporal time view, the time view of "multiple times coexist instead of a single time" can only lead to one kind of time view. The emergence of a labyrinthine time state, this concept of "not just one time", that is, "there are many times, and the series of these times - the members of these time series naturally have some precedence and others At the same time, some are behind - not in order, nor at the same time, they are different series" [25], which should be a post-modern concept: it deconstructs the accustomed concept of time and transforms it into Time is pushed towards the eternal and infinite state of "timelessness". Therefore, Borges wants to question as follows: "Why should we conceive the idea of ??a single time, an absolute time as envisioned by Newton?" [26 ].

8. Poems about Borges

This is from "A Sword from York Minster"

Dream:

When the midnight clock squanders the generous time

I will go further than Ulysses' sailors

Entering the realm of dreams Memory

is out of reach.

I brought only a few remnants from the underwater realm,

but beyond my powers of understanding:

Simple botanical grass,

various animals,

conversations with the dead,

words from ancient languages,

and sometimes Horror,

The face that is truly a mask,

Nothing the day has to offer can compare with it.

I am everyone, I am no one.

I am someone else,

I am him without realizing it, he has seen me wake up from another dream

. He judges

He stays out and smiles.

You can understand it if you try to become a magician yourself. This is a story about a dreamer. The dreammaker is a magician. He started his dream-making work in a circular ruins in a foreign land. The dreamer created an academy with many teenagers in it. He personally taught the teenagers A course on the structure of the universe was given. The teenagers all knew the importance of the course. They listened attentively and answered seriously. They understood that only by passing the exam can they escape from nothingness and enter the real world. However, an endless awakening destroyed the academy. , the dreamer couldn't sleep. He even wanted to reach the state of dreaming through tired adventures in the forest. Unfortunately, he only had a few short and barren dreams in the bushes. His efforts were in vain. Once, he dreamed of the academy again. , just when he was about to say something to the students, the college and the students distorted and disappeared.

After a period of adjustment, the magician began to create more difficult dreams. After a bath, the magician On the night of the full moon, a ceremony was held to worship the gods and stars. "Sing out a powerful name with standard pronunciation." After falling into the dream, "almost immediately" I dreamed of a beating heart. Over the course of a year, The dreamer reached the skeleton and eyelids. After One Thousand and One Nights, a complete boy appeared. Then the dreamer spent two years teaching him the rituals of fire worship and the mysteries of the universe.

The boy in this dream, the "son" of the dream-maker magician, later arrived at the temple in the north and stepped on the fire without being burned. The dream-maker was worried that the boy would be depressed because he found out that he was the shadow of the dream. For this he felt He was full of worries. Until one day, a fire came to the ring ruins. Thinking that the fire was coming to end his old age, the magician did not avoid it and walked towards the fire without hesitation. The flames did not burn his skin and flesh, but gently Soothing him, drowning him. .

In the last sentence, Borges described the dreamer's mood like this: "He knew with relief, shame, and fear that he himself was also a phantom, a phantom in another person's dream."

9. What are Borges’s famous quotes

1. What can I do to keep you? I give you the streets of poverty, the sunsets of despair, the moon of rundown suburbs. I give you the sorrow of a person who has been looking at the lonely moon for a long time. ——Borges, "Two English Poems"

2. Your body is just time, and the time that keeps passing by is just every lonely moment. ——Borges, "You are not someone else." "

3. I have always secretly imagined that heaven should be like a library - Borges's "Poems About God's Gift"

4. The world will change, but I'm the same, I thought with sad conceit. —— Borges "Aleph"

5. Any destiny, no matter how long and complicated, is actually only reflected in one moment: the moment when people fully realize who they are. ——Borges' "The Biography of Tadeo Isidoro Cruz"

6. The house is not actually that big. What makes it appear big is shadow, symmetry, mirrors, and length. years, my unfamiliarity, my loneliness. ——Jorge Luis Borges, "Death and the Compass"

7. How do I say to my life: I lived with you, but I never touched you, I traveled around your territory, but I never saw you. you. ——Borges

8. The God of destiny has no mercy. God’s long night has no end. Your body is just time, and the time that keeps passing by is just every lonely moment. ——Bo "You Are Not Someone Else" by Erges

9. In his imagination, those dreamy nights were deep and dark pools where he could hide. ——Borges "The Secret Miracle"

10. What makes him feel distant is not the length of time, but two or three irreversible things - "Waiting" by Borges

11. I thought to myself that a person can be the enemy of others and the enemy of others for a period of time, but he cannot be the enemy of an area, fireflies, words, gardens, water flows and wind. —— Borges "The Garden of Forking Paths"

12. I slide down your twilight like the piety that is tired of sliding down a slope, and the young night is like a wing on your roof. ——Borges

13. I write not for fame or for a specific audience. I write so that the passage of time can make me feel at ease.——Borges

14. Over the years, I have understood a truth, that is, anything in the world can become the germ of hell; a face, a word, a compass, a cigarette advertisement, if not forgotten, may make people crazy. ——Borges' "German Requiem"

15. Dante Gabriel Rossetti wrote to a friend after reading "Wuthering Heights": "Things It takes place in Hell, but for some reason they all have British place names.

"——Borges "Private Collection"